


It Ends In Light

by Abby_Ebon



Series: Bite Sized Bits of Fic [9]
Category: Greek and Roman Mythology
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-28
Updated: 2012-06-28
Packaged: 2017-11-08 18:52:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/446375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Abby_Ebon/pseuds/Abby_Ebon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Greek Mythology, Apollo/Pan, always alone</p><p>*"Apollo" means (destroy), "Pan" is (all)*</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Ends In Light

Light touches Pan's nose, and he wrinkles it in distaste, for the wilderness might harbor dark and secrets, but eventually night must end and day begin. It is the day that Pan loathes, once he was a god – but now he is more, and less, he is a Pan who dies, and his voice may still shill to raise the fear of unknown and wild into the hearts of mortal or divine, but it is not his gift, for every time he dies, he lives again and takes a little bit of the world's wildness away. It is killing him, the slow dying of the wild places - he thinks he'd rather be dead then see it all going away so painfully slow – yet he never crosses the Styx, never walks with cloven hooves into the depths of the world he is beloved of. He is meant for light and earth and wildness, not the dark he so desires.

Pan sighs, looks up to the sky, and knows he is watched. He has tried to hide from the light and its source, but now he knows he has failed. Prone now beside him is Apollo, who watches him, wide eyed and trembling, his golden skin flushed with desire and sweat as he breathes in shakily.

"It is you, you live." Apollo whispers the words in the silence of the morning, Pan only waits, and his curving horns are ivory white in the light. Pan knew that as a boy, Apollo had followed him, had all but loved him, still some of that awe and reverence swam in his eyes. Pan loathes seeing it, it hurts to remember and to know he is still remembered in this world where the wilds are dying.

"How do you live, my sister is dead, Artemis of the Hunt, of the Wilds, is dead, yet you…you live…" Apollo confesses, and Pan had suspected it – had feared it, that with his being what he was now – not god or mortal, but the divine all; would kill those he had held dear and loved.

"Are the nymphs all dead, then?" Pan asks, because he must know that if nothing else, he remembers the joys of chasing them. Apollo does not speak, and it is answer enough, Pan lowers his eyes for he is no match for the loveliness of Apollo, with his furred limbs of a goat, yet is Apollo who kisses him, soothing.

"Together, we are not alone, though from others we always must be…" Apollo whisperers feverishly against his lips, and Pan understands how Apollo has survived, he is of the sun and it's healing light, yet he is also of the arts and their music, and Apollo has divided himself to remain, to stay behind at Pan's side. Pan closes his eyes, awash in light and heat, and knows he must put Apollo back together, for they are alone, and there is no one else save themselves who may save them.


End file.
